


my imagination's much worse

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Gen, No Dialogue, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7061080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete isn't sure he likes to think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my imagination's much worse

**Author's Note:**

> for the fall out boy creations challenge. the prompt was calm before the storm. 
> 
> i was inspired by the lyric  
> "What you do on your own time's just fine.  
> My imagination's much worse, I just never want to know.  
> And what meant the world had folded  
> Like legs and fingers holding onto what escapes me;  
> What he has: a better kiss that never lasts."

Pete isn't sure that he likes to think. His thoughts are dangerous, they have always been. With medication or not, in a depressive episode or a manic one. It had always been the same. Either 'you should kill yourself's or 'cheat on Ashlee with Patrick's, it had always been like this.

He sighs and gets up from his bed, sleep making every step heavy and slow. He didn't sleep last night, and there isn't any plan on doing so tonight. He sighs as he takes his meds.

They're not a magical cure to his bipolar mind. They're not a salvation, a cure-for-all. But he swallows the pills anyway, and they taste bitter on his throat. He shakes his head and passes the day scrolling through twitter and instagram.

It's maybe five in the afternoon when it gets significantly worse. It's usually not this bad. but his wrists burn, and he feels the powerlessness of not being able to control himself. He gets up and his arms meet the razor way too quickly.

_My imagination's much worse, I just never want to know._

"You deserve it," he whispers under his breath, another slash in his skin. He's furious, he's hating, because there has never been someone this disgusting.

He cleans the cuts up, the contact with the towel slightly itching. He hates this, he hates himself, he hates his brain and his meds. He sighs, feeling sick with nausea.

He hates the way his mind works. He hates how fragile he is. And, above all, he hates how he makes Ashlee and his bandmates put up with him.


End file.
